Carved crudely through the prehistoric stone were the
grooves of industrialization.
Where the textured boulder touched the sky lay the
comforting blanket of pollution.
Sticky tar careened down the flattened surface -
the eye of the volcano.
Our elders warned us not to touch the confections
while they were cooling on the window sill,
but we blatantly undermined their authority,
burning feet and rubber
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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